


Apocalypsis

by ChocolateRulez



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School
Genre: Betrayal, Canon Compliant, F/M, Mental Instability, Precognition, Psychological Horror, Supernatural element, brief descriptions of gore, strongly idk??, that element being, the komamiki is kinda hinted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-15 21:07:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11814210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolateRulez/pseuds/ChocolateRulez
Summary: Nagito predicts the end of the world. The rest of the class wants to prepare a field trip towards the nearest beach.





	Apocalypsis

**Author's Note:**

> frick I'm still deciding on how I'm going to end "I'll Give Up Forever and a Day to Touch You" but I watched this really dramatic movie that had me thinking up this fic. So here's a big chunk I'm still deciding whether or not may even be good.

Nagito hums to himself, a staccato beat that sounds eerily familiar to the rest of the classmates bustling to check off the final preparations for their upcoming day to the beach, but which none of them could remember. It’s a rhythmic tune that creeps along the edges of their minds and tickles their memories teasingly, but doesn’t conjure a full scene to end the elusive song.

“Komaeda-kun?” Chiaki calls out amidst the chaos occurring in the center of their classroom, and luckily he picks up her softened voice.

“Hm?”

“Can you head down to the freshman’s classroom and see if they have any more coolers from their own trip? Sonia-san wants one?” She poses her entire demand as a polite inquiry, but he understands it would be rude to dismiss her request considering that everyone else was seemingly occupied.

There was so much hope, brewing in that very classroom, that his sudden urge to leave and not botch the atmosphere only added to his easy agreement.

Tanaka is shouting over Chiaki’s last words as Nagito heads out of the classroom’s worn mahogany doors, an eloquent speech relating to how his hamsters’ wellbeing must be insured during their field trip, an elaborate response towards Kazuichi’s comment about “rodents”.

He gazes around the empty hallway, which was the first time he ever encountered one in such an eccentric school as this. There was always an aspiring Ultimate animatedly gesticulating towards another Ultimate, or crowds of Ultimates scurrying down the hallways towards their respective classrooms.

Then he recalled how it was lunch hour in this section of Hope’s Peak, and the people that were usually occupying the hallway with their monumental presence were either stuffed in their classrooms or down in the spacious lunchroom. Either way, they are enjoying their respective lunches while his own stomach grumbled.

He couldn’t recall the last time he ate lunch. Or any food, for that matter? His mind unwillingly conjured up a hazy image of Mikan begging him to eat in order to maintain his shaky health, since he was finally gaining weight during her daily check-ups.

Shrugging, Nagito resolved that he just shouldn’t tell her he _forgot_  to eat. It’s not like he did it on _purpose_ , he was just _unlucky_  enough to have forgotten. It’s not like he was worthy to even be in healthy shape anyways, his health was deteriorating every second he was idly standing by and wasting his life, soon he would just collapse and. . .

He stutters out a hasty apology as he rams into an Ultimate, her strawberry-blonde pigtails bouncing lively from the startling impact. The steel beams that were precariously edging on her petite arms wobble shakily and clang once they slam into the floor. He winces at the unceremonious sound, and is bending over to automatically pick up what he caused her to drop when he feels her roughly jab her bony knee into his side.

He’s taken by surprise from the sudden pain she had given him, and doubles over as he clutches his stomach. All he could keep his eyes focused on are the pink-studded stilettos she was sporting with the school uniform, a stylish accessory to append with the otherwise dull outfit.

“Whoops!” She squeaks, but he’s too busy focusing on the clear pain arising from his empty stomach that he doesn’t notice her words until she continues in an annoying chatter that irks him for no reason at all except for the tone. “I’ve disrespected my Senpai~”

He was about to raise his lowered head to catch a glimpse of the unknown freshman’s eyes, to once again apologize for making contact with her, but he feels a sharpened boot roughly shove him into the cream-colored walls that he just now realizes is rigid enough to have him doubling over in more pain.

“Get up, it’s getting boring now.” Her voice, which had been extremely childish to the point that it sounded like a screech to his sensitive ears, quickly morphed into a monotone demand that had him scurrying to listen. He obeys, albeit reluctantly, since her voice rung throughout in his mind in a hypnotic mantra that nonetheless reminded him how an Ultimate could yank his unruly locks of colorless hair and slam them against the wall just as she was doing and he would wholeheartedly deserve it.

He would blame the momentary reluctance on Mikan, since for the past few months she had been imposing her gentle views that he didn’t deserve to be mistreated if she didn’t deserve it either. No matter how many times he would attempt to explain to her in his garbled, hope-ridden language that the sole difference between their worth was that she was a beloved Ultimate, she’d somehow twist his response upon him and he’d feel something pleasant bubble up within his chest before dying down.

But then Nagito found himself peering into the icy blue eyes of Junko Enoshima, and the harrowing feeling of mild hope that he discovered but couldn’t exactly pinpoint its meaning whenever he thought about the timidly beautiful nurse popped as if it were just a restrictive bubble that kept him from viewing into the rest of the vast world.

Peering into the bright sky-tinted orbs, he felt his grip on reality slipping, as if he were entranced by the despair swimming in a tantalizing manner. His gaze followed the swirls, not straying from the elliptical path until an entirely new world emerged from those same swirls and entrapped his unreliable mind.

He was. . .

 _. . .Losing himself_. . .

* * *

 

The reddened sky, dripping with the color that was similar to the blood soaking the very streets he was standing on, was what caught his limited attention first. His lip curled in visible disgust, unable to comprehend how it looked tainted when a few minutes prior he was staring up at the cloudless blue that promised a fine day of sea-frolicking and messy sandcastles that were built on shaky grounds and wouldn’t last a day under the sweltering sun.

This sky depicted countless deaths occurring under its shadowed wing, until the very air was horribly corrupted from all the _despair_. . .

He clutched his head and shook it furiously, tugging the locks of his white-tinted hair in an attempt to distract himself from the incoming thoughts that bombarded him. He despised himself just for thinking of that horrid word, and tried to will up an image of Mikan stuttering softly in a room full of promising Ultimates, but her lavender eyes would be only focused on him and his awkward pun that he knew she didn’t fully understand, she was just so friendly towards him that his lips would turn upwards in their own hints of a smile, and he felt his stomach bubble with that pleasant feeling. . .

Then he saw the aforementioned bodies haphazardly placed on the sidewalk, thousands of people piled on top of others, their corpses all torn and despairingly ripped apart that he couldn’t even identify their facial features. Or what had been their features.

His eyes widened, and he felt a different kind of feeling bubble within his stomach, one that mirrored all his darkest fears.

Fears that he had locked in the deepest crevices of his mind in an attempt to finally move on, fears that he foolishly thought would never resurface because for once his luck was finally under his control and those fears only happened to gullible children in the midst of pitch darkness.

But the cages were rotting within him and releasing the demons that haunted him whenever he shut his eyelids.

Demons that he thought he had vanquished under pure daylight, but under this inky night with undertones of blackened red they reappeared, heaving themselves over the torn corpses whose bloody innards were spilling out of their clothes and seeping into the sidewalk. The slick liquid would spill into the numerous cracks of the sidewalk, as if an earthquake had struck the very ground and shook its core. The demons didn’t care, didn’t notice because they had caused it, and he stifled a fearful scream as he tried to back away.

Instead, he only tripped on another stiff corpse that was blocking the narrow sidewalk, and he crumpled on the blood-streaked pavement. Fear stretched throughout his body and his tears choked his vocal abilities to scream.

He turned his head to the side, eyes widening as he made eye contact with the corpse’s eternally opened irises. The corpse’s face was destroyed, as if it had been bashed in with a standard hammer that could cause enough damage if used correctly and with enough force. His mind had reached that far-fetched conclusion all by itself, and he almost imagined that it was _him_  that had bashed this unfortunate person’s face in, cackling eerily as he repeatedly swung the hammer towards the victim’s face until they were unrecognizable, until blood was splattered throughout his trench coat, the shackles on his hand clinking together in the rhythmic jingle that had momentarily haunted the 77th classroom prior to his departure.

It was almost as if he were experiencing some sort of otherworldly epiphany, these images just vividly shaping in his mind as if they had actually occurred. He would never be in such a state of _despair_  to actually take someone’s precious life away from them, unless his luck cycle unwillingly forced him to. But other than that,

Of

His

Own

Free

Will?

Just as he was mentally deciding whether or not he was just pathetically trying to convince himself that he couldn’t murder someone when the actual truth in front of him was splayed on the asphalt, he felt the ghastly demon of his childhood nightmares pin his weak body back on the sidewalk.

This demon, it tracked him for several years once he realized he was the sole cause his parents’ jet crashed in front of his impressionable young eyes, it was the face of all despair and everything that would follow afterwards until the caretaker was carelessly shoveling dirt over his unmarked grave.

He shut his eyes frantically before he espied the sight of the demon’s countenance, fear coiling within his stomach as his heart beat erratically.

His mind reeled him back into his empty yet expansive bedroom, the duvet covering his fearful eyes from the demon that was patiently leaning over his figure on the mattress. He recalled how he felt the tears roll down his pudgy cheeks and moisten the mattress beneath him, how he felt an acrid smell inundate his nose that smelled as if death was approaching his doorstep as the demon exhaled on top of him.

How once he finally uncovered the fluffy duvet from obscuring his view, he was only gazing into his own childish face, its odd cackle fading into the night as it wrapped its bony fingers around his throat and squeezed almost elatedly.

The child staring down at him was what first made him realize that the cause of all his harrowing despair was his own self. If he never possessed his damned, karma-infested luck cycle, his loved ones wouldn’t be dying off in front of him as if they were only cheaply-made props.

 _That_ was the actual reason why he found himself physically unable to listen to Mikan’s comforting speeches about how interminably innocent he was, how he shouldn’t be treating himself so horribly when he was a prisoner of his own damned mind.

It’s because he never confided in her how he murdered thousands of people wihout even tugging a single strand of their hair, perhaps the same number that were now sprawled in the streets, because he was highly afraid she’d halt all of her hopeful expectations of him, and she wouldn’t gaze at him with that timid kindness only she possessed, and that was the worst type of despair of all.

The type of despair that made him realize he disappointed perhaps the very last person that would fully believe he was capable of possessing happiness, capable of possessing _love_ , capable of possessing _hope_.

Nagito yelled as he felt the demon under the new reddened sky forcibly pry his fingers away from his tightly-shut eyes. The body underneath him shifted, as if large puddles of blood pooling around it hadn’t been enough to kill the spark of life, and he was forced to reopen his eyes as he leapt away from the body in shock.

He watched it struggle weakly as the demon clawed through its chest, ribbons of blood spraying his pale face. The sight was gory enough to keep him from screwing his eyes shut again in a flimsy attempt to shut down the images in front of him from continuing to occur in an endless flurry of nightmare.

“This is the despair you were born to _revel in_!” It growled lowly, the voice familiar enough to send the nerves in his stomach to once again ravel around his ribcage and constrict his shortened breathing.

He knew of this demon’s facial features, and it wasn’t himself this time.

The possibility of a new unknown horror paralyzed him as the aforementioned demon crept away from the body and snuck around Nagito until it was peering straight into his horror-stricken expression.  
  
The demon had now reformed as the beloved Mikan Tsumiki, the lavender eyes that were once brightened in such shy hope now darkened in a lustful despair that almost had him considering just how _bad can despair be_ if the kindest girl he had ever met was currently possessed with it?

He snapped back from the thoughts that were driving his mind into an endless spiral of confusing messages, gently nudging the Ultimate Nurse away from him. He had to-for the love of hope- had to clear his thoughts and the salivating student in front of him was keeping him from doing so.

This was what the version of Ultimate Despair had in store? This couldn’t actually be his inevitable future, shoving the same girl that once sobbed in his arms because she felt pity for him?

This _despair_. . .

It filled the empty spots within him and crept up his spine before blossoming in his head.

It felt like the worst thing he could ever experience, as he watched her uneven locks bounce in a lively manner before she pounced on top of him, sharpened dagger poised to slash his thin throat.

It was the most wonderful thing in the world.

“This feels like. . .” her soft lilting voice was twisted in the same despair he was mindlessly riding on, “fate!”

Yes, he found himself wordlessly agreeing, his luck would spiral out of control and this was the only type of death he could accept. He didn’t bother to struggle as he watched her lean forward, lips pursed enticingly. His mind was certainly executing tricks on his poor soul; now he was unsure whether or not Mikan was leaning forward to end his life or to seal his lips in a chaste kiss.

He was fine with either, as long as _she_  was the one.

Then he watched her lovely lavender eyes morph back into the cloudless blue of Junko Enoshima, and he tried to ignore the pang of disappointment that swam within the pit of his stomach.

He was back in the empty hallway that connected the classroom adjacent to his. The same Junko Enoshima was balling up his uniform collar in her fists and lifting him up from his slack position on the cream-colored wall. “Doesn’t it?” She questioned cheerfully, loosening her stony grip on his collar before she finally released him from her hold.

He vacantly nodded, realizing that Junko was the one who had confessed her rough clash with him felt like some thickly-coated fate.

She continues to blabber relentlessly, but he only tunes in once he hears her mention _despair_  offhandedly, as if she were associated with it and even dabbled in that prospect. Her dismissive use of such a powerful word almost angered him to the extent that he almost walked away, wasn’t that such a funny idea?

His ideal next words would be a string of rude curses at her, but instead he wonders if he had just glimpsed into the blackened future that would riddle his restless nights with nightmares for the following weeks. So he opts not to reply, since she was still an Ultimate and he was of an extremely lower position than herself to actually cuss this physical embodiment of _despair_.

He heads back towards his classroom, ignoring her indignant protests on how rude he was being since he was ignoring her enthusiastic speech on how despairful they could end up making the world if they became a powerful duo, knowing that if he spent another second with the woman he may just kill her for the sake of hope in itself and the probability that Mikan would become a mirrored image of that vile woman.

Nagito even goes as far as to spin around, hand clenched into a fist as if he actually attained the moxie to punch _an Ultimate._ But he stops himself from doing so, once he images of the near future flashed in his eyes as if it were some horror movie schtick.

The whole world. . . was to be encapsulated in despair just because of this teenage girl simpering oddly in front of him? It would become the next apocalypse, the strongest and most effective despair the world would ever feel in the entirety of its long-lasting existence.

It was mere curiosity that caused him to lower his fists at her and continue heading back to his classroom instead of bashing her smug face in and keeping that gruesome reality from taking place.

How would his fellow Ultimates react to such despair?

He believed in all of his classmates, believed that they would all trudge through that apocalyptic demise, and their fantastical hope would emerge from the ashes and trump any cloud of despair that would hang over them.

The Ultimate Showdown. . .! He begins to snicker to himself as he already begins to envision it. . . Hope vs. Despair!

Of course, he wouldn’t be the lucky protagonist in this final showdown that he was now excitedly envisioning in his head. He became the snickering antagonist now that he’s mentally decided not to confide in his fellow classmates on the danger Junko was emitting.

His own self-interests overpowered any concern he could have for them! They would never give in to that despair he had glimpsed!

An image of Mikan leaning over him, grinning toothily as her cheeks were lightly dusted in that despairful blush and aiming a knife at his throat flashed in his head in a millisecond. She was of the Ultimate kind; yet she had fallen in such disgusting despair?

He dismisses his doubts as he recalls how **_weak_**  Mikan is.

She’d be easily convinced by Junko Enoshima if it pertained to her wily tactics. Just how would it be carried out? For a brief second he wonders if he can protect Mikan from morphing into the Ultimate Despair, then decides against it.

“The Mop never brought back the cooler!” Saionji whined, snapping him back from his conflicted thoughts. He shrugs nonchalantly in response, too preoccupied with what he had just seen to not really be affected if he angered any of his fellow classmates. The majority of them were still too busy collecting the last of their beach items to actually remark about his lack of help.

Mikan accidentally rammed into him, dropping the gigantic stack of beach towels she had been carefully balancing towards Chiaki. He’s struck with how similar his first encounter with Enoshima had been, and roughly shoves Mikan away from him in a panicked gesture from the very thought of the woman that has her tripping to the floor.

“I-I’m s-sorry!” She’s sobbing apologetically and the entire room’s bustling activity is paused as if it were a practiced cue. He could definitely hear the guilt pounding his heart now, heightened with the sense that everyone was glowering at him.

He would have never, _ever_  pushed Mikan away as he had now, but all he can see when she looks at him pleadingly is Junko’s wide-toothed smile, and his countenance is crumbling as he begins to mumble incoherently about how even the brightest of hopes can be snuffed out.

Fuyuhiko extends a hand towards Mikan, lifting her body up as she tearfully thanks him. “He’s just spooking you, he’s a little unstable with his hope thing,” Fuyuhiko attempts to comfort her as he glares at Nagito, then everyone veers their attention towards Miss Yukizome as she announces that they may have just overpacked.

There’s a unison of collective groans that resound throughout the small classroom, but Mikan is peering at the boy cowering in his seat to join in.

She sees this odd flash reflected from his widened green-flecked irises, as if she had seen a reddened sky and an innumerable myriad of rotting corpses underneath it. It honestly terrifies her for that briefest of moments, her eyes tearing up as she clamps both her hands over her mouth in an attempt to stifle a scream that is clawing its way up her chest.

She decides it was just her imagination running rampant as Ibuki pulls her away from her seat to join the offhand remarks the other girls were commenting about this blonde freshman's outfit choices. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Why did I make this?!? Lol idk either


End file.
